#tamiel
Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)
The wedding seemed to come before he had a chance to process anything. He didn’t know what he was doing with Lyriel. Ianthe still wanted him to banish her. Lucien told him how stupid it would be. But they didn’t know. They couldn’t know. Ianthe may have thought she knew something was up, but she could never be sure. Tamlin counted on her not being certain of anything. If she figured him out, everything would be chaos.
Feyre had sunk into herself more and more. He wanted to fight it, wanted to bring her back to life. But he felt as though he couldn’t. He didn’t know the full truth of the horrors she went through. He just knew what he’d had to do. He couldn’t compare either experience. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.
Needless to say, the wedding felt as though it was the least important thing happening. He had briefly thought about postponing it. But Feyre had worked so hard on the plans. She deserved a perfect day. One where she did not have to think of anything, where she didn’t have to worry about anything. Tamlin wouldn’t allow his troubles to ruin anything for her. He wouldn’t let any creatures come and interrupt the festivities either.
If only he had known what she was hiding from him.
His suit clung to him, making him feel claustrophobic. He had never felt so stifled before. The beast inside of him wanted to rip free of the clothing, wanted to react to the whole thing in a way that Tamlin would not allow. His emotions were all over the place. He felt as though he could barely breathe.
It was a miracle he hadn’t destroyed something yet.
A gentle knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” he called out as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Lyriel slipped silently into the room, her frozen berry scent giving her away. He glanced at her once through the mirror, his mouth going dry at the sight of her.
She wore a dress of silk, as green as his eyes. A slight ran up her left leg, revealing a dagger sheathed at her thigh. The gown hugged the curves that her corsets and pants had never bothered to hide. But it seemed different. This was far more inviting. The beast inside of him wanted to touch her, to feel the soft skin of her thigh, of her arms. Her skin looked just a bit more tan than when she had first come, yet it still held the glow of the winter. Her hair fell in waves down her back, white as snow and so soft that he wanted to run his hands through it.
The scars on her arms were still visible, as were the ones that ran up that delectable thigh. He wondered how many more were hidden underneath her gown. She had been a warrior for a long time. Longer than he ever would have expected.
“You look beautiful,” the words left his mouth before he could think about them. He swallowed once, trying to wet his dry throat. “But, uh, I doubt a dagger is an appropriate accessory.”
Her lips quirked into a smirk, a dimple appearing on the left side of her mouth. Had it always been there? Was he just noticing it now? “You’ll have to take it from my dead body.”
Even when they were about to be parted for the rest of their lives, she still found it so easy to be Lyriel. Tamlin knew this wouldn’t hurt her. She would get away from him without ever taking a backward glance at him. The thought killed him. Yet, at the same time, he knew he had no right to expect less of her. She deserved everything that he was getting. She deserved more.
“Don’t say that,” he said as he turned to face her. He didn’t miss the sparkle of amusement in her frozen eyes as she took in the sight of him in his finery.
“You don’t look like yourself,” she stepped towards him slowly. Unsteadily. Tamlin glanced down once, noting the black heeled shoes she wore. She wasn’t used to them, her steps small and uncertain. Or maybe she didn’t want to be close to him. He couldn’t blame her. She was losing a mate that she had never known. He was giving her up without ever actually rejecting her. They weren’t supposed to be doing this. But he couldn’t stop it. Neither could she.
“What do you mean?” His voice was strained as she stopped just inches away from him. He kept his gaze at the wall behind her, trying not to think of the way her scent tickled his nose. He tried not to think of how her body had felt next to his. He tried not to think of how her hair had felt against his cheek.
That night had been a mistake. One that he replayed over and over again in his mind. He would never have another night like that. Not with her.
“You’re not meant for finery,” Lyriel stated, her hand slowly coming up. Her fingertips gently traced the shape of his cheekbone, going to his beard. She dropped her hand just before he had a chance to shudder. He hated what she was doing to him. Hated that she was playing with him. “You’re meant to tear down kingdoms, to end tyranny. You’re a warrior, Tam. Same as me.”
He stilled, hating the truth in her words. He had never wanted any of this. Had never wanted the responsibility. But he didn’t want to be the monster everyone thought he was. He didn’t think he was a warrior. He just didn’t like to see injustice being done. Even if he knew, at this point, that there was very little he could do to stop it.
“Lyriel,” he whispered her name, it felt like the beginnings of a secret song. “You should go. Home.”
A flash of something shone in her eyes as she stepped back from him. It was gone before he could figure out what it had been. “I understand. After the wedding, I’ll depart with the rest of your guests. We wouldn’t want to cause a scene, would we?"
Her voice had hardened. It wasn’t the soft lilt she’d used when speaking to him of who he was. She sounded as though she had just spoken to her general. Maybe the respect should have made him happy, but it just chilled him.
He went to open his mouth, to say something else. Anything to make this moment different. He didn’t want to say goodbye to her, didn’t want to let her go. But Tamlin knew that he would have to. It had donned on him when she had slipped into the room. When her dress had begged him to tear it from her, he had known that they could not do this. She needed to go her own way, find her own happiness. He had to allow her the opportunity. He couldn’t be selfish.
Not when it came to her.
Lyriel slipped from the room before he could find the words to say. Her scent lingered, his body ached with the need to go after her. To comfort her. He didn’t though. He just turned back to the mirror, wiping whatever emotion may have been lingering in his face. He wouldn’t allow any of the guests to see what he was feeling. All anyone would see was a man who was about to marry the woman he loved.
The only woman he loved.
"Tam,” Lucien spoke from outside the room, his knuckles gently rapping on the wood. “It’s time.”
Tamlin took a deep breath, looking himself over once more. He nodded at himself before he turned to leave. He stepped out of the room, clasping his best friend on the back. “How’s Feyre?” It felt wrong not to ask, even if he knew it was probably inappropriate to ask about her.
“About as nervous as you are,” Lucien could read him too easily. It came from knowing each other as long as they had. He had never hated it before. “It’s all going to be alright. As soon as you two are married, we can finally settle everything.”
He knew that Lucien was right. They had a long way to go to make damn well certain that the Spring Court would make it through the aftermath of everything. Not to mention preparing for a war that may or may not come. He had to hope that the wedding would at least give his people some faith that things were getting better. He had to hope they believed it. Even if he wasn’t sure if he did.
They made their way to the gardens, Tamlin painting a smile upon his face as they walked. He wanted everyone to see what they should. A man who was finally getting everything that he wanted. He greeted guests, laughing at jokes and making his own when it felt appropriate to do so. His gaze flickered around, not taking in the decor.
The flowers were beautiful, wrapping around columns that had been erected for the wedding. He didn’t care about them, didn’t care about the way the breeze fluttered around them and wrapped them in warmth. His gaze searched for Lyriel.
She was standing with a group of Spring Court lords, a glass of champagne in her hand and soft laughter falling from her lips. His stomach twisted. She looked so at ease. She didn’t look like the woman who had just told him he wasn’t meant for this life. She didn’t look like the soldier that he knew she was.
She looked like a lady of the court. Lyriel may have thought that she was not suited for anything but a blade and a shield, but he knew better. He could see it in the way she carried herself, in the way she had wrapped his lords around her finger. She belonged in court life. She would do well in it. Mother above, he wished he hadn’t of thought about it.
He knew that Lyriel would sooner take a sword to the throat than belong to this world.
“Lyriel’s leaving tonight,” he murmured to Lucien. Needing to get the words out before they festered in his chest and became a disease.
“What did you do, Tam?” Lucien’s smile never faltered, the perfect portrait of a man at ease with his lot in life. Even if it had been particularly shitty. “Did you say something to her?”
“No,” he was somewhat affronted that Lucien had even thought that he could do something to Lyriel. “It’s just time for her to go. We’ve got enough on our plates without worrying about the Winter Court and what information they could be gathering.”
“Why haven’t you had Ari check her out?” Lucien questioned, taking a glass of champagne from a waiter. Feyre would not show for another half hour. Plenty of time to get drunk on faerie wine. Celebrations often turned into week-long events. That was one of the many reasons why Tamlin had not wanted to postpone the wedding.
“Didn’t think she would have the time,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “She’s been too busy dealing with Rhysand and his moods.”
He did feel bad for sending the girl to the Night Court. But the opportunity had never presented itself before. A mating bond had snapped into place, a bond that they could easily exploit. It was a wonder that he had yet to do the same thing with Lyriel. He had to get away from her before he did something he regretted.
Lucien gave him a quick look before he slipped away to speak with others. More people came up to Tamlin, laughing and talking with him about things that did not matter. None of this mattered. At least, he didn’t feel as though it did. He was stupid for thinking it. Stupid for thinking anything bitter on the supposedly happiest day of his life. Tamlin hated to think that he was in a foul mood. He hated to think that anything was going to ruin this day.
Feyre deserved so much better than him. He hated himself for thinking that.
“It’s time,” Lucien murmured to him.
Tamlin’s throat felt dry as he watched Ianthe take her place at the head of the alter. He took his own place to the right of Lucien. The guests took their seats, Lyriel in the very back. He hadn’t noticed the flowers that she had braided into her hair until then. The periwinkle petals were bright in her white hair. She spoke in soft tones to a man who sat by her. Good, she didn’t need to be alone during this.
He tore his eyes from her as the music began to fill the air. Feyre stepped out of the manor, her gown more taffeta and looking as though it was the most uncomfortable thing she had ever worn in her life. He painted a smile on his face for her.
Her own smile did not reach her eyes. She looked anxious, as though she was afraid of everything that was happening. He chalked it up to the last time she had been in front of a crowd of this magnitude. He could imagine how she would have to tell herself that they were okay. She wasn’t being made to compete in trials that would possibly end in her death. She was walking towards him. Towards their future together.
Until she stopped.
His brow furrowed, his feet already beginning to move toward her. Something was wrong. Something was happening that he was unaware of. Had something happened? Had she decided to hide from him again? When would they get to the point where they could actually speak to each other?
A gentle breeze that smelled of spiced wine and the depths of depravity was the only warning. Rhysand appeared in the blink of an eye, a cruel smile on his lips as he looked down at Feyre.
“Feyre, darling,” Tamlin wanted to rip him limb from limb. His claws felt as though they were ready to poke out. He heard the sound of steel being drawn from a sheath. “I’ve come to make good on our bargain.”
Before Tamlin could say a word, Rhysand had her in his arms.
“She’ll be back in two weeks,” Rhysand winked casually at Tamlin. A snarl tore free from Tamlin’s lips as the scent of spiced wine and depravity filled the air once more.
A dagger embedded itself in the pillar just beside Tamlin’s head. If it had been thrown a second earlier, it would have caught Rhysand straight in the throat. The dagger was unadorned, a simple blade that had been used countless times if the smoothness of the handle was anything to judge by. If anger had not clouded his senses, he would have realized it carried Lyriel’s scent with it. He would have seen the woman standing up, the flower petals falling from her hair and a look of rage painted on her face.
“Find her,” Tamlin shouted, his voice carrying farther than usual with his rage. His entire body was shaking, his claws out and the fangs pushing at his gums. It hurt, it hurt so much. But he couldn’t stop the beast from taking over.
The guests fled, his guards and sentries quickly rushing off in order to figure out the impossible. Tamlin didn’t know how to feel, how to react. He just went into the manor, his rage causing him to go through the home blindly. He ripped doors off of the hinges, tore down paintings, and crushed statues that were in his path. Anything to release some of the tension. Anything to release some of the rage that he felt.
He wound up in his office, the desk becoming splinters as he pounded it over and over again with his fists. He had known Rhysand would take her. He’d done all he could to find out how to break their deal. Yet, nothing had ever come up. He’d never imagined that Rhysand hated him so much that he would go out of the way to ruin his wedding. Despite the hatred that he felt for the High Lord of the Night Court, he had respected him enough to think that Rhysand was better than this. Better than this dramatic bullshit.
But he wasn’t. No one was ever better. No one ever would be.
He didn’t hear her footsteps. He didn’t smell her frozen berry scent. No, he didn’t notice a damn thing until she gently touched his arm. His hand twitched, not knowing if he should shove her away or pull her closer. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing would ever make sense again and he knew it.
“Tamlin,” Lyriel spoke softly, kneeling on the floor beside him. The splinters of the desk tore her dress, ceramic pieces from the lamp tanged in the silk. “Tamlin, look at me.”
She didn’t look afraid of him. He picked up on that before anything else. Her eyes were wide, but with concern. She was willing to put herself in a vulnerable position in order to try and speak with him. Tamlin trembled slightly as he looked at her. He was afraid.
Afraid of himself. Afraid of her. Afraid of what Rhysand was doing to Feyre. What he would do just to fuck with Tamlin. It all left him feeling powerless, unable to change anything or protect anyone that he loved. It was like he was a child again. Watching as his father did things that he wasn’t proud of. The things that still haunted him at night.
“I’m right here,” she spoke softly, as though she were trying to soothe a wounded animal. Perhaps that was all he was. “I’m not leaving. We’ll get her back. I promise. Everything is going to be alright, Tamlin. You’ll find a way to get her out of whatever deal she made. You’ll get married and have multiple children.”
Despite the fact that she could have easily been sarcastic, Lyriel sounded sincere. She sounded as though she believed that he would get those things. That he deserved those things. No one had ever made him feel as though he deserved to be happy. No one had ever made him feel as though he were anything but a monster.
Feyre did her best. She had done better as a human when he had saved her from a life where she would have died before age twenty. She loved him because he had protected her. She had needed a protector. Now, she needed something different. Tamlin just had trouble realizing it. He never would.
“I just need you to breathe, alright?” Lyriel’s eyes were brighter than he thought they had any right to be. He didn’t know how a frozen evergreen could look bright, wide, and … Perfect. His stomach ached at the mere thought of it all. This was too much. All of it was too much.
“Lyriel,” he breathed out, his fists clenching in front of him. He looked away from her, his eyes shut tightly. “You should go.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” it was infuriating how she never did as he asked. How she followed her own desire. He’d never known a soldier who didn’t listen to orders. “You might tear down the manor if I do.”
He knew that she was right. He knew that she was just trying to help. She was trying to be a better person than he deserved. Tamlin felt as though every single thing that Feyre had ever been through was his fault. Everything Rhysand, Lucien, and everyone in the Spring Court fell on his shoulders. He knew that it was nonsensical to think that way. But he did.
He always did.
“Please,” his voice was so small. So much smaller than it had been since the day he had become the High Lord.
Lyriel took his hand in hers. He tried not to note how small her hands were in his. Hers were just as calloused as his own, just as full of scars and of stories that she may never tell him. He shuddered slightly at the chill her skin brought but he did not pull away.
“We’re mates,” she had to bring that up now? When the world felt as though it were coming to an end. “Even though you’re choosing her, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
He opened his eyes then, looking at her. Really looking at her. The periwinkle petals had fallen from her hair, one had been left behind. Her eyes were filled with tears, perhaps due to knowing that he wouldn’t pick her over Feyre. Yet, she clung to his hand with as much strength as she could muster. She held his hand as though he was her one lifeline. Tamlin had always wanted to be someone’s protector, someone’s lifeline.
He didn’t dare believe he could protect Lyriel.
He brought his right hand up, his claws shrinking back into his skin, and gently moved it to her hair. He plucked the periwinkle petal from her hair and let it fall slowly to the floor. His eyes didn’t follow it. Neither did hers. Instead, he allowed his gaze to travel from her eyes to the other areas of her face.
With her time in the sun, freckles had begun to bloom across the bridge of her nose. He wanted to trace them with his forefinger but he did not. The bridge was crooked, having been broken a few times. He wanted to know those stories, wanted to share his own with her. His gaze fell to the small scar above her upper lip. It cut into the cupid’s bow and made her lips look much more kissable.
He didn’t think about it. Not for the first time in his life, Tamlin took action without thinking. He leaned forward, lightly brushing his lips against hers.
She tasted of those damned frozen berries. The sweetness of them was addicting and he cursed the Winter Court for it. Her lips were soft, perfect against his own.
He kissed her again, hungrier. Desperate. It felt right. Like some switch in his brain had been flipped. His right hand tangled in the white-blonde hair, pulling her as close as he could. She kissed him back, just as hungrily. They were teeth and tongue and fire and ice.
They were berries and roses and pine and peony. Everything they shouldn’t be and everything they should.
Lyriel pulled away first, a shuddering breath leaving her. She stood, her gown showing more skin now that it had been ripped by splinters of wood and shards of ceramic. She looked at him for a few seconds, he could taste the tension in the air, before she turned on her heel and left.
Leaving Tamlin alone in his broken kingdom.
Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)
She was in his arms when he woke the next morning. The storm had passed, leaving nothing more than a light condensation on the windows of his bedroom. The light was distorted as it came through the window, hitting Lyriel almost perfectly. She was asleep, perhaps for the first time since she had come to the Spring Court. Her brow was smoothed, her fingers clenching around the blankets as though they were a hilt of some sort.
Tamlin’s heart ached as he took in the gentle slope of her nose. He tried not to focus on her lips and the gentle way they were parted, her breath coming out in the softest snores. Mother above he did not need this.
Slowly, he untangled himself from her. He did not know when he had begun holding her. Perhaps sometime after the storm had passed. He wished he knew. He wished he could remember how it had felt to first wrap his arms around her. At least then he would have that memory. He would have been able to think on it when she eventually found someone better.
Even if he kept her in the Spring Court, he was certain she would find someone else. Someone who would spar with her, who would laugh with her, who would give up a mating bond for her. She deserved that. Even if he would want to kill whoever tried to get close to her.
It wasn’t fair. He knew it. He knew that he was holding her to a different standard. There was no excuse for it. Maybe if he was a better man there would be. Yet, he was anything but a better man. It seemed as though the whole world was right about one thing. Tamlin was a bastard. A brute. Someone who would trap their mate and marry another woman
Wouldn’t his father be proud?
The thought made him sick. He had to shove it down, shove everything down as far as he could as he began to ready himself for the day ahead. He did it as quietly as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Lyriel. She needed more sleep. He didn’t know if she would take it well should he actually tell her that.
From what he knew, Lyriel didn’t take most things well. At least if they came from him. He had no idea how she reacted around other people. Maybe he just antagonized her. Or it was her way of fighting back against the bond that neither of them truly wanted.
She shifted, a soft grunt escaping her. A shiver went through him at the sound.
Mother save him. He knew that he should just leave her there. That he should not think of what other sounds might come from her throat. How he could make them.
Tamlin quickly finished strapping on his bandolier before he slipped from the room. He willed himself to not return to that bed. To stay as far from her as he could. He worried that her scent would be all over him. Worried that Feyre would be able to scent it. It had been a mistake. But not one that he could find himself regretting.
This whole thing was a mess. One that Tamlin had never foreseen. He had always assumed that he would never find his mate. He had thought the Mother would be cruel in letting him go his entire life without that bond. He had gotten over it.
It seemed that she was cruel in another way.
Tamlin huffed softly as he shoved open the door to his office. He hated to hide himself away, but it was the only thing he could do. After Amarantha had been dealt with, his lands had cleared of the beasts roaming them. Now, he was focusing more on rebuilding villages and his lords’ lands.
Occasionally, he would find something prowling. It was easily dealt with most of the time. That or he would have to go and deal with one of his lords. They had been more of a nuisance than he had ever imagined. He had assumed they would be supportive, especially after the hell they’d been through for forty-nine years. Yet, it appeared as though all of them wished to see him fail.
Tamlin did not have many supporters.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Ianthe stated as she looked over at him. She was sat in front of his desk, a languid smile on her face as she took in the room. “I hope you slept for once. The Spring Court needs you at your best.”
He hid his irritation as best he could. He hated to show Ianthe when he was displeased with her. He wouldn’t risk losing his High Priestess. Not when the Spring Court needed her now more than ever. Yet, it did feel far too early in the morning to be dealing with her and her schemes.
“Good morning, Ianthe,” he said lamely. He sat down at his desk, not bothering to ask why she was there. She had a habit of telling him before he could say a word.
“I’ve already written up the letter to Kallias,” she seemed too eager. There was no reason for her to hate Lyriel. Not that he was aware of at least.
She hadn’t found out the truth, had she?
“It won’t be necessary,” Tamlin cursed himself for how quickly he’d said it. “Lyriel and I spent last night speaking about her actions. We’ll be seeing a different side of her.”
They wouldn’t. But the lie had slipped from his lips as easily as a breath. Perhaps he should ask her to keep up appearances, to keep from bringing too much attention to herself. However, he was almost certain that this would just make it worse.
“I suppose that’s why her scent is all over you?” Ianthe’s eyes darkened, the look making her look less beautiful and more like a vengeful spirit of some sort. He would not say it but it did scare him just a bit.
His fingers curled around the arms of his chairs. His claws biting at the skin. “It was a long conversation.”
“Tamlin, if you’ve fucked the girl it’s just another reason for us to be rid of her."
"I haven’t laid a finger on her.” It didn’t matter that he wanted to. It didn’t matter that she haunted his thoughts in the late hours of the night. He would never hurt Feyre in that way. Would never hurt anyone by betraying their trust like that. He was a monster but he was not cruel.
“Of course you haven’t,” Ianthe sat forward, her eyes twinkling in a predatory way. “I won’t judge you for having needs, Tamlin. But you might think of the Cursebreaker.”
His spine straightened as he realized just what she was doing. He knew that Ianthe had her ways. That she plotted and manipulated things. But he had never expected her to go after him. He had always assumed that she would use it for him.
“I think of Feyre constantly. Mind your tongue, Ianthe. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Tamlin’s claws slipped from the skin, causing him to nearly wince. Contrary to popular belief, he felt the pain that came with losing control. He did not do it for fun. Even if the world thought it was something he had fun with. The world was quite wrong about most things that had to do with Tamlin.
The door burst open before she had a chance to respond. Lucien stood in the doorway, a letter clenched in his hands and an easy grin on his lips.
“Tam, you’re going to want to hear this,” he stopped once he noticed that Ianthe was there. His easy grin slipped from his face, a tension coming to him that Tamlin had not noticed before. He wondered if he could sense the tension in the room or if Ianthe just bothered him that much. He knew which he assumed it was. But that didn’t often mean that he was right.
“Ianthe, we’ll discuss this later,” he told the priestess without a glance. She was going to threaten him? He would show her exactly who she was dealing with. He had been known to be petty on occasion.
Ianthe bristled but she stood nonetheless. “Of course,” was all she said before she slipped out of the room. She sent a glare his way before disappearing down the hallways. He just had to hope that she would not be going to find Feyre. Not now. Not ever.
He would rather die than hurt her. Knowing he spent the night with Lyriel? It didn’t matter the context, it would hurt her.
“What is it Lucien?” He asked as his friend stepped into the room, shutting and latching the door behind him. Lucien sank into the chair that Ianthe had vacated, tossing the letter onto the desk.
“We’ve received word from Cari,” Lucien never used the woman’s full name. If Tamlin hadn’t of known better, he would’ve assumed that he was sweet on her. “Rhysand has shockingly not said a damned word about his plans. But she does know something about Azriel.”
Tamlin’s brow rose as he picked up the letter. It was coded. The words were written in the small footprints of her green finch. She and Lucien had spent weeks with the creature devising the code. Tamlin had never really gotten his head around it. But his spymaster had been too proud of it for him to tell her to change it.
“What exactly does she know?"
"Besides the fact that he doesn’t want a mate unless it’s Morrigan?” Lucien began to smirk slightly as he watched Tamlin. “Well, apparently the shadowsinger has been watching the human realms. According to Cari, he’s spending more of his time there than at the Night Court. It makes you wonder what exactly they’re doing over there.”
A soft sigh escaped Tamlin’s lips. “That doesn’t tell us anything! Just that the Night Court is interested in another Feyre,” he wasn’t completely certain that was the case. However, there was something that told him it wasn’t.
There was something else going on. Something that he was unsure if he wanted to know. He knew that Prythian was not safe. Hybern would surely send another monster to their shores. War would come sooner or later. They could not just sit around and wait for it.
Despite knowing this, Tamlin knew that he would try to ignore the signs as long as possible. They had already been through too much. He didn’t think he could stand going through all of it again. He couldn’t stand putting his people through hell after telling them that it was over.
He had lied to so many people in his life. What was a lie to protect them?
“Or that something’s coming and we need to prepare for it,” Lucien pointed out with a soft sigh. “Besides, we all know that there’s no one that could replace Feyre. She’s unique.”
That was one word for it. Tamlin knew she was better than unique. She was … Perfection. Everything that he had ever wanted. Someone who was actually worthy of him and of being the wife of a High Lord. Feyre was everything to him. She was the one person that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Still, the news about the Night Court was distressing. He began to pace the room, his fingers twitching towards the knives on his bandolier. He didn’t think about how he had seen Lyriel do the same thing. Her fingers constantly itching for a blade when she was concentrating. He didn’t think about it because he had not truly realized they did the same thing. Why would he when his mind was constantly elsewhere?
“Should we send scouts to the human realms?” He questioned, speaking more to himself than Lucien. “They might think we have another curse if we do. Fuck.”
His head tilted back, golden hair falling just to the middle of his back. He wondered how in the hell he was going to get anyone to understand the stresses. How was he going to deal with managing the blunderings of the Night Court as well as his feelings for a certain Winter Court soldier and his upcoming nuptials? It was all too much for any man. He didn’t think anyone would have dealt with this nearly as well as he had.
But considering he spent most of his nights sleeping as a beast at the foot of Feyre’s bed, that wasn’t saying much.
Something had to give. It had to be soon. Otherwise, he was destined to run the Spring Court into ruin. The thought alone made him want to be sick.
“I need to think,” he announced. Lucien nodded his head, understanding clear on his face. That was the one good thing about Lucien. He always seemed to understand Tamlin. He knew that sometimes it was just better to let the beast wander off on his own. It was better to keep away from him. To give him space and time.
He slipped out of his office, his fingers gripping the hilt of one of the knives strapped to his chest. He missed the days when he didn’t have to keep his knives close. He missed when he could travel his court with nothing more than his fiddle. He missed writing about the beauty of his lands, of witnessing a child’s smile when they heard his music. He doubted he would ever get a chance to experience that again.
Soft words escaped his lips as he walked out of Rosehall. He had never been a mumbler until becoming the High Lord. When problems became too much, he was either prone to letting the beast out or talking to himself. One was definitely a bit healthier than the other. Even if he wasn’t sure which it was at times.
Tamlin hardly paid attention to his surroundings as he walked. His feet taking him in the direction that he needed to go. His mind too distracted by whatever it was the Night Court was planning. None of it made sense. Why were they so focused on the human realms? Why was his spymaster so worried about the whole thing? Why did he want to question everything and not leave this whole mess up to Lucien and Cariaru? That should’ve been his go-to. He should’ve been focused on the wedding and getting rid of these feelings he had for Lyriel.
The Night Court really did have to ruin everything. Didn’t they?
He strolled into the maze of roses. It was not the ones his father had given his mother but something she had done herself. She had taken him to the maze at the northeast corner of the grounds often as a child. They’d played for hours while his father trained his brothers.
He missed her most of all. He knew that it was shitty and that he shouldn’t have missed one of his family members more than the others. But he did. His mother had been the only one who had ever seen him and cared. The only one who had wanted the best for him. Maybe that was why it hurt the most that she was gone.
The scent of roses had once been overwhelming to him. He had thought that it would one day drown him. That he would die by an overwhelming amount of roses. They had wound up in his nightmares. But now … Now they calmed him. Now he realized they were more of a birthright than anything to ever be afraid of.
He sank down on a stone bench that was still slightly damp from the storm that had ravaged them last night. He didn’t mind it. The chill bit into him and kept him thinking critically about what was happening.
He rested his elbows on his knees, his forefingers resting on his top lip to keep himself from speaking anymore. The wind blew through his hair, his eyes fluttering to a close. He would figure this out. Somehow, he would figure this out.
The human queens had to have something to do with this. Maybe Azriel hadn’t told Cariaru yet. They had only known her for a few months. It wasn’t long enough for her to gain their trust. Soon though, she would be able to give them the information they required. Soon Tamlin would know exactly what was happening beyond his borders. At least, he hoped so.
Soft footsteps sounded behind him. The restless energy that had been building in him suddenly ceased. Whoever was approaching him would find that sneaking up on the High Lord of Spring was one of the stupidest decisions that one could ever make.
“Tamlin,” her voice was soft, soothing his soul more than anything else ever had. What he wouldn’t give to hear her say her name a thousand times. His name had never sounded like a song before. But Feyre made it sound so beautiful that he wanted to cry.
“Feyre,” he turned his head towards her. He tried to smile, tried to make her feel as though everything was fine. That he was at ease. Yet, would he ever be at ease? He had no hopes of understanding the Night Court. Nor did he know how he was supposed to marry Feyre when it felt as though everything was quickly beginning to change. It was a mess that he did not quite know what to do about. “What are you doing out here?”
“I needed some fresh air,” she admitted as she sat down beside him on the bench. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. He wanted nothing more than to keep her close for the rest of his life.
At least then he would be able to protect her. He needed to protect her.
“You didn’t come to bed last night.” He stiffened at that. Ianthe had been able to smell Lyriel on him. Would Feyre? Had she been able to figure out different scents yet? He didn’t know but he hoped that she hadn’t. Hoped that she was still so confused about that and everything else that came with being a High Fae.
He felt like the world’s shittiest person just for thinking it.
“I had work to attend to. Nothing serious,” he added quickly. “Just precautions. I don’t want anything ruining our wedding.”
He tried to ignore the grimace that flashed across her expression. He had been trying to ignore the fact that whatever bond that had once been between them was quickly evaporating. He no longer felt that strong pull towards her. He knew that she avoided him as much as he avoided her. But he was fighting every single day to get that spark back. Maybe this whole thing was Lyriel’s fault. Maybe they both just needed some time apart. Time to just process all that they had been through. All that they continued to go through.
But if she was away from him he would be unable to protect her. Who knew what the other High Lords would do if they found out anything about Feyre. He was keeping her as safe as he possibly could by keeping her contained.
He just didn’t know that it was slowly killing her. He didn’t want to know.
“Are you alright? You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he said, his green eyes almost glowing with the concern that he felt for her.
Feyre nodded her head, sheets of golden brown hair falling around her. “I’m fine, Tam. Just … Just concerned with how fast everything’s been happening.”
He could understand that. Could understand how frustrating the whole thing must have been. She had died, been brought back, and was now about to marry him. It had been a long few months. A long time that had somehow not been long enough. He wished he could have done more to help ease her into the whole thing. Wished that they could put off the wedding longer. However, he thought it would be the best way to put all the horrible shit behind him.
Behind them.
Feyre deserved to not worry about any of this. Not to worry about Amarantha or Hybern or any of it. She had done enough. She deserved to rest.
“We’ll get through it,” he promised her as he gently took her by the hand. “We always do.”
Her hand felt stiff and cold in his. It felt more like the hand of a corpse than of the woman that he loved. What had changed between them? Had they been through too much? Could they ever go back to what they had been? They deserved a happily ever after. He had been her fairytale prince. She had been his knight in shining armor. They were done now. They could sit back and rest without worrying about any of it.
Yet they were broken. Perhaps they always had been. Two broken people who had tried to make each other whole. It just wasn’t working this time.
They had been broken down beyond repair. Tamlin just could not see it. He could not begin to let her go.
